


Caught Up

by MachaSWicket



Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2058882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY:  A Navy ceremony through Keith’s eyes.  Also, a presumptuous birthday present for Katelinnea. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught Up

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS: Massive thanks to dansunedisco for seriously kickass beta work, both Navy-specific and everything else. Like, I handed her chunks of ideas in vague, storyish form and was like, WHAT DOESN’T WORK? IS IT ALL OF IT? Hee. All mistakes and inaccuracies that remain are my mistakes and/or stubbornness. :)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Nope, they’re not my characters and I own nothing.

In the four years that Logan Echolls had been back in his daughter’s life, Keith had somehow managed to avoid almost all military pomp and circumstance.

Avoidance wasn’t an actual goal of Keith’s; he had nothing but respect for the armed services in general and Logan’s service in particular. It was just that said pomp and circumstance was usually linked to Logan’s arrival home after long deployments, and Keith simply preferred his version of reality where Logan and Veronica kissed chastely and went out for celebratory malteds. 

As first times onto a Navy base went, heading directly to the flightline for a private event was pretty impressive, at least in theory. But -- after a rather imposing security check -- Veronica parked in front of a squat, beige building that looked like most of the other squat, beige buildings they’d driven by, and he tried not to be disappointed by the distinct lack of glamour or implied military might. Because when he’d heard “navy fighter pilot,” he’d pictured high-tech, modern… _everything_. Instead, the perfectly groomed lawns, expertly paved parking lots, and carefully nondescript buildings reminded Keith of subdivisions he and Lianne had visited in the 80s. 

And he wasn’t proud of it, but he had to admit that the thought of Logan Echolls, child of wealth and luxury, spending his working life in a building that seemed to have been last updated during the Reagan administration tickled Keith.

He opened the car door and suppressed a groan as he unfolded himself from the low passenger seat, and then had to squint in the unrelenting sunshine to see where Veronica was headed. She’d been here before for a couple of events in addition to Logan’s deployment-related ceremonial... things. 

He should really try to get better with the jargon.

Veronica moved purposefully around the hood of the car to his side, her heels clicking an upbeat rhythm on the asphalt, cranberry dress particularly bright against the grey and beige landscape. Veronica threaded her arm through his and grinned up at him. “We’re going right through this building. I think it’s just out back.”

Keith nodded and held the door open for her, hesitating a moment to let his vision adjust to the non-sunshine-bright fluorescent lighting. The hallway spanned the length of the building, and it reminded Keith of nothing so much as a 1970s-era concrete-block elementary school. He could almost smell the whiff of school lunches as he took in the well-worn tile on the floor, the purposefully unobtrusive blue paint on the walls, and the wood-framed posting boards every few feet. Except that the first framed corkboard he reached held not children’s drawings, but notices, flyers, and the occasional serious-looking Navy document. 

Veronica slowed beside a bulletin board most of the way down the hallway and tilted her chin. “This is Logan’s squadron,” she said, her voice low. There were silly pictures, mostly candids, posted along the edges, and in the middle was a picture of Commander Bamford, Logan’s squadron commander. To the right was Gonzo’s official portrait, with black ribbons on the corners. 

“Oh.” Keith hadn’t expected a reminder of Lieutenant Gonzalez’s death. The emotional fallout from Gonzo’s death in a training accident had hit Logan hard, and Keith wondered what it did to him to pass by this portrait every day. Keith’s gaze caught on the patch pinned to bottom corner of the picture -- the VAQ-142 Bobcats patch of Logan’s squadron. Keith leaned a little closer, noting the discoloration along the top of the patch. Just that area of the patch looked worn and faded, like -- well, like a dozen pilots touched it in acknowledgement on their way out to their planes every day.

Keith closed his eyes for a moment.

Veronica leaned into his shoulder. “We’re going to visit his grave,” she said. “On our trip.”

Logan had taken advantage of the timing of his promotion to schedule two weeks of leave just after. Instead of flying off to Europe or South America as they’d done a couple times before, Veronica and Logan were driving the southwest. Sedona, the Grand Canyon, White Sands -- and apparently a visit to Gonzo’s hometown a couple hours east of San Diego.

“Has Logan been back,” Keith asked, haltingly, “since…?” 

She shook her head just the slightest bit, her eyes a little watery. “No.”

Nearly three years later, and Keith still vividly remembered the choked, wrenching sound of Veronica’s voice when she called him, knowing only that an unidentified Navy pilot had been killed. He hadn’t heard Veronica so distraught since she was fifteen and staring down at her best friend’s body. He still blamed himself for not instructing a deputy to keep Veronica inside Kane house and away from the pool (because he should’ve known even then she wouldn’t stay in the car). 

After Lilly, Veronica absorbed the hits, even Lianne’s desertion, with a stoicism that made him proud at the same time as he started to worry about her. She wouldn’t talk to him about it, employed her best diversionary tactics. She kept her armor on all day, even with him. But they lived in a mediocre apartment with mediocre walls and he would sometimes overhear her crying when she thought he was asleep.

Except when it came to Logan Echolls.

Keith had never fully _understood_ the strange pull between the two of them -- hell, Veronica had become so good at concealing her feelings that he’d taken a while to catch up to the fact that they were dating at all the first time. But Keith was far too observant to have missed the way Veronica closed in on herself when Logan hurt her, as if the pain he caused was too deep to share with anyone -- or to put into words.

Veronica had her faults -- she judged people too harshly and too quickly sometimes -- but she was a good judge of character. And she was private and protective and didn’t accept that many people into her inner circle. But Keith understood now that, intentionally or not, Veronica had let Logan past all of her defenses. Good thing he’d made something of himself. An impressive -- if dangerous -- something, actually. And these days, when it came to Logan Echolls, the dangerousness of his job was the only thing that worried Keith. 

He thought it worried Veronica, too, but he saw no trace of doubt, no hesitancy in her at all even as she stood solemnly in front of the memorial for Gonzo. But he wouldn’t be her dad if he didn’t ask. “Are you comfortable with this, honey?” he asked quietly.

Veronica fixed him with an evaluative look. “What do you mean?”

Keith shrugged, struggling with the best way to ask her this. “I just mean it’s a difficult life, Logan being gone half the year sometimes. I kind of thought he would leave the Navy after his initial hitch was up.”

Her lips curved, just slightly, and she said, “This is who Logan is. This is what he loves. I of all people should understand that I can’t ask him to leave it just because I get scared and lonely sometimes when he’s gone.”

Keith struggled to mask his reaction. Because Veronica didn’t admit to things like fear and loneliness. And she certainly didn’t used to encourage Logan to do things that would leave her scared and alone. Keith realized he was pretty proud of her role in Logan’s continued success. 

“C’mere, kid,” he said, slipping an arm around her shoulders to give her a quick hug. “You’re a tough cookie, you know that?”

“Hell, yeah,” she answered with a grin. “Now let’s go see that man of mine looking fine in his dress blues.”

Keith rolled his eyes and followed her toward the bright double doors. 

Out on the edges of the flightline, ten white folding chairs had been lined up precisely along one of the many incomprehensible painted markings on the asphalt, facing a small, slightly scarred lectern. Keith didn’t pretend to have any idea what the mustard yellow lines on the ground meant, and turned his attention to the man standing beside the lectern who must be Logan’s commanding officer. Commander Bamford, who seemed much less stiff-upper-lipped in person than in his official portrait, stood beside a line of flags: the stars and stripes, of course, plus the Navy flag, and one that Keith assumed was related to the base or possibly Logan’s squadron. 

But Keith was much more interested in the fighter planes sitting in a row maybe twenty yards away. They were angled off to the side, so Keith felt less like he could be the accidental casualty of a missile strike, but they were still impressive. Much larger on the ground than he would have imagined, and painted a dull grey with incomprehensible markings. He assumed they were the Growlers that Logan’s squadron flew, but had nowhere near the expertise needed to confirm since he was too far away to read the pilots’ names stenciled below the cockpits.

“Kinda intimidating, huh?” Veronica nudged his ribs with one elbow. 

“Not really,” he lied. Then he flashed her a grin. “I’m just thinking of the futility of my Second Amendment-protected six-shooter if the power I’m supposed to be fighting has _those_.”

She laughed, her face bright with happiness and pride. “My man flies a sexy plane.”

Keith simply rolled his eyes. 

“Hey! Veronica!” 

She looked past him and grinned at the short, boisterous man leading a group of Logan’s colleagues their direction. Most of them were dressed in sharp tan uniforms, with two or three in green flightsuits. 

“Reza!” Veronica stood and greeted Logan’s fellow pilots and backseaters. Keith knew “backseaters” was affectionately disparaging, but the only other thing he’d heard Logan call Reza was a _window-licker_ , so Keith went with the less insulting option. Because hell if he could keep the acronyms straight for the non-pilots that flew in the second seat of the Growlers. 

Keith followed Veronica to the group and offered handshakes and nods to each of them. He’d met a couple of them before, at various get togethers at Veronica and Logan’s place. It didn’t escape his notice that there were far more people here already than the 10 chairs would suggest. He wondered if Logan had tried to limit the guest list, or if he had underestimated how many people actually gave a damn about him.

Even this many years later, the effects of Lynn and Aaron’s parenting -- if it even deserved to be called such -- were evident to Keith in some of the actions and expectations of their son. 

Speaking of whom -- Logan stepped out onto the flightline in his sharp blue jacket, service ribbons attached below his gold wings on his chest, and his white hat just slightly askew. Even with sunglasses obscuring Logan’s eyes, Keith could read the surprise on his face when he took in the two dozen or so people awaiting his arrival.

“Well, this is a dangerous group,” Logan commented, sweeping one hand out, palm up, in one of those expansive gestures Keith immediately associated with Veronica’s troublesome teenaged boyfriend, and not with the responsible man before him. Usually Logan only resorted to performance when he was particularly nervous.

After shooting Veronica a quick grin and a wave, Logan moved forward into the group of airmen and women, grinning magnanimously as they fussed over him, straightening his tie, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulders, and making sure his cap was aligned just so. It was good for Logan to have a family like this, people who would have his back _and_ hold him accountable. Keith had always credited the Navy for Logan’s maturity, as if it were a Borglike creature that simply spat out an upgraded Logan. Watching him with the his colleagues, it was clear to Keith that once Logan had been expected by his peers to be responsible and accountable, he found the capacity within himself to be so. Logan had put in the effort to make himself a better man, and Keith couldn’t help by admire him for it.

“I guess you look mostly presentable,” Reza decided, and gave Logan a little push towards Veronica and Keith.

Laughing, Logan let his momentum carry him right into Veronica’s personal space, cutting a quick glance to Keith before greeting her with an appropriately chaste kiss. “Hi,” he said. “Nice dress. You look like a cupcake.”

Veronica stepped back and thwacked his arm. “Play nice.”

“Keith,” Logan said, offering his hand, “thanks for coming. Sorry about all of this,” he added, hooking a thumb at the small crowd behind him. “Didn’t think they’d make such a fuss.”

Keith shrugged, “Oh, I don’t know, Logan. Seems like the kind of thing that’s worthy of a fuss. I hear there’s even _cake_ later.”

“There is,” Logan confirmed. “But the decision on what kind of cake to get was cruelly wrenched from my hands and--”

“Oh, quit your whining,” Veronica interrupted with a grin, “you know you love red velvet cake.”

“Well, I know _you_ love red velvet cake,” Logan shot back.

Keith watched them, amused, as they bickered about cake flavors and who makes the food-related decisions in their household. Veronica contended that she liked far more of a variety of foods, and that he was therefore the decision-maker because he limited their options, while Logan maintained that if she was the one who always, always selected which option they chose, then she was clearly the decision-maker. Keith didn’t have a dog in the fight, but would tend to side with Logan -- Veronica wasn’t much for compromise when it came to food.

Logan’s watch beeped, just barely audible to Keith, but Logan straightened immediately. He looked to Commander Bamford near the podium, who nodded once and said, “Let’s get this started.”

Keith and Veronica and a few of the pilots took their seats, but when Logan moved to sit beside them, the Commander laughed and said, “Oh, no, Lieutenant. Front and center. These fine folks are here to see your ugly mug, not my chiseled jawline,” he added with a smirk.

Logan froze, but Veronica reached over to squeeze his hand, and it didn’t escape Keith’s notice that Logan calmed under her touch. After handing his sunglasses to Veronica, Logan moved next to the lectern and turned to face them, his movements precise and controlled as he brought his heels together then clasped his hands behind his back. Keith still marveled at it on occasion -- the military bearing and calm capability.

“Welcome,” Commander Bamford said as the officers and crew without seats moved to stand in a loose group behind the line of chairs. “I’m gratified to see everyone from the squadron, plus a good number of the crew we work with every day have joined Logan’s family to celebrate his promotion.”

Keith watched the play of emotions on Logan’s face at the word _family_ , wondering if Logan let himself believe it yet. As Commander Bamford continued, Logan’s gaze shifted between the middle distance and Veronica.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Logan,” the commander continued. “It takes a certain kind of person to serve this great nation of ours in the military. But what our civilian friends and family sometimes don’t understand is that the rewards are far greater than what many of us are able to put into words. President Kennedy once said, ‘Any man who may be asked in this century what he did to make his life worthwhile, I think can respond with a good deal of pride and satisfaction: I served in the United States Navy.’ I think everyone gathered here today would agree with that sentiment.”

The rumble of agreement from behind him amused Kieth -- he was only surprised no one shouted “Go, Navy. Beat army,” in response.

“The first time I met Logan, he was quiet and respectful,” Commander Bamford said. “I had _no_ idea he was such a sarcastic son-of-a-bitch until after his first flight as part of the squadron. And when he popped up the canopy, tossed his helmet to a crew member with what he claims was a Kareem Abdul-Jabbar skyhook -- it was not,” he added, pausing a moment for laughter, “and then practically cartwheeled himself out of the plane and onto the ladder I realized just how much he loved flying. And I knew he’d fit in just fine.”

Keith wasn’t sure, but he thought Logan was having a difficult time resisting the urge to fidget as his commander talked. He looked particularly discomfited as the commander recounted stories from Logan’s first deployment, where he and Reza had engaged in an escalating prank war with Fred and Queenie that ended up with all four of them grounded for ten days. Commander Bamford followed the lighter stories by reminding them that Logan made his first nighttime carrier landing on the first try, and recounted some in-air competence that, frankly, Keith couldn’t fully understand or appreciate. Clearly, he was not as well acquainted with the actual day-to-day tasks of a fighter pilot as he probably should be, all things considered.

“And so, Lieutenant,” Commander Bamford continued, “congratulations for choosing to serve in the greatest Navy the world has ever seen.”

Reza started the applause even before Commander Bamford finished his sentence. 

The commander stepped out from behind the lectern and shook Logan’s hand. Whatever they said to each other was drowned out by the cheering, which stopped abruptly when Commander Bamford lifted one hand.

“Because these pilots couldn’t do anything without their wizzos -- no matter what they tell you,” the commander continued, raising his voice to be heard over the grumblings from the pilots behind Keith and Veronica, “Lieutenant Echolls has asked his Weapons System Officer, Reza Shaheenian, to assist. Lieutenant Shaheenian?”

Reza moved to join the two men as Logan unbuttoned his jacket. He shrugged out of it and handed it to Reza, who accepted with an uncharacteristic air of formality to his actions. Reza sat back down, and Keith turned his attention back to Logan, standing before then now in a crisp white shirt.

“Lieutenant Echolls has asked Veronica to change out the lieutenant’s shoulder boards for the shoulder boards of his new rank, lieutenant commander.”

Keith heard Veronica’s nervous exhale beside him, and squeezed her hand as she stood. Veronica had attended enough Navy functions with Logan -- and had studied his bluejacket’s manual until she had the regs memorized -- so she understood most of the pomp and circumstance. But she’d never been asked to play an active role before. And even though this was relatively straightforward -- unfasten the slip of fabric, slide the old insignia off, slide the new insignia on, and re-pin the fabric to the button near his collar -- Keith knew Veronica was nervous.

But she was a Mars, and nobody other than Logan and Keith would be able to tell she was anxious as she moved confidently to Logan’s side. She reached up for his shoulder, and then paused to give him a quick kiss. When she started on his shoulder board, the heels helped, but their height difference was still enough to give her some difficulties. Logan grinned down at her as she held his elbow to steady herself and pushed up on tip-toes to see better.

Keith was just starting to feel a little bit misty about the scene before him when Logan smirked at Veronica and asked, “Do you need me to kneel down?”

Except for the smile she fought to suppress, Veronica ignored his remark. Instead, she glanced over at Keith. “Dad, could you get the other side?”

Keith opened his mouth to demur, although he couldn’t think of a way to say it gracefully, but then he glanced over at Logan, who nodded. “Would you mind?”

He jerked a nod and pushed himself upright. “I’d be honored, Logan.” He moved to Logan’s left side, accepting the stiff black shoulder board with a gold star above three gold lines of varying width, thick, thin, thick. Keith felt the sun beating down on his head, heard the unmistakable shutter click of the photographer’s camera as he fumbled a little, his hands just a bit clumsy with the the pressure not to screw up this moment for Logan.

Keith slipped the old shoulder board off. It was harder than Keith thought it should be to ease the new shoulder board onto the slip of white fabric, but he managed it and then buttoned it back into place. Veronica finished the other side moments later and beamed up at Logan.

Keith gave Logan a congratulatory pat on the back of his shoulder and returned to the chairs, handing the old shoulder board to the commander on his way past. He dropped into his seat, relieved and proud and touched, all at the same time. 

Veronica move towards her seat, but Logan touched her elbow. “Stay up here with me.”

Veronica looked torn and maybe a little embarrassed as she glanced at Commander Bamford and then back to Logan. “Is that okay?”

The commander grinned at her. “Sure. The Navy is surprisingly flexible about the details for these.” 

“Oh,” Veronica said. “Thanks. Okay.” She stood between Commander Bamford and Logan, chin up and attentive.

Commander Bamford motioned to Reza, who jumped up and took three steps to Logan, offering him a handshake and a new navy jacket. Logan accepted both with a smile, then said, “Oh, wait -- Commander?”

The commander nodded and handed Logan’s old shoulder boards back to him. Keith watched closely, figuring this for one of those incomprehensible military traditions that he would know nothing about before watching it play out before him.

With his brand new jacket still held loosely by his hip, Logan brandished the small black rectangles to the crowd. “While I hate to disagree with Commander Bamford on anything -- particularly today -- I feel the need to clarify that I could fly the hell out of my plane with or without a window-licker tagging along in the back.” Logan grinned at the reaction from the men behind Keith. “But having said that, I _do_ appreciate the hell out of my very favorite wizzo.” Logan turned to Reza, “I’d like to pass these along to you.”

Reza accepted the boards, and this time, instead of a handshake, Logan and Reza embraced briefly. “Thanks,” Reza mumbled, looking a bit overcome, and then retreated to his seat.

Logan took a half step away from Veronica for room to maneuver his way into the new navy jacket with the correct insignia for his rank. Logan seemed a little bashful as he shrugged the jacket onto his shoulders, smoothed the left lapel, and then quickly buttoned it closed. Veronica reached out and trailed her fingers down his arm and across the gold stripes above his wrists -- the thick stripe-thin stripe-thick stripe of a lieutenant commander.

Then Logan grinned at his audience, holding his palms out wide. “Looks good on me, right?”

Keith couldn’t be sure, but he thought Commander Bamford only just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Logan. Instead, he said calmly, “Are you ready for the oath?” 

Logan nodded, smile disappearing, back straightening. Everyone in the seats moved immediately to their feet, and Keith followed suit. Veronica stepped back as the commander turned to face Logan, who raised his right hand. 

Once the commander rattled off the first section of the oath, Logan dipped his chin and began. “I, Logan Echolls,” he said, his voice calm and steady, “do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.”

He paused for Commander Bamford to read the next part, and Keith’s attention shifted between Veronica and Logan, standing beside each other, their focus on the commander. When Veronica looked up at Logan, and Keith shifted his gaze, too.

And then suddenly, all Keith could see was this same man, in this same uniform, and with this same solemn look on his face as he swore a different kind of oath to Veronica in a small courtroom six months earlier. Veronica had worn a simple white cocktail dress, and she’d looked more beautiful and more joyful than any bride Keith had ever seen, even if only Logan, Keith, Wallace, and the officiant got to witness it. 

Veronica and Logan’s wedding wasn’t at all what he had imagined when he first held Veronica as a tiny, angry baby. He’d pictured an airy church and a big white dress as he proudly walked her down the aisle. He’d imagined a band playing Neil Young’s _Long May You Run_ for the father-daughter dance, as her hundreds and hundreds of loved ones looked on fondly.

But his Veronica was a determined, private person, and he had to admit that the wedding she’d chosen ended up being more moving than anything he could have dreamed up. The vows they’d spoken were simple and straightforward, the well-worn standards that thousands and thousands of couples have pledged to each other over the years, but somehow more affecting for their familiarity. 

Keith hadn’t cried because his _only_ daughter was getting married; he’d cried because the most important person in his life was truly and openly _happy_ , and she’d wanted him to be there to witness it.

To be honest, Keith wasn’t sure whether anyone other than the Navy bureaucracy and the four of them who were at the courthouse even knew Logan and Veronica had married; neither of them chose to wear rings. But as much as Veronica claimed that it was primarily about the military red tape and benefits, Keith knew the extra hint of confidence, of contentedness she displayed these days had a lot to do with she and Logan making measured promises to each other.

Keith glanced again at his daughter, who was watching her husband with a proud smile, and told himself pay attention. He was getting a little maudlin in his old age.

Logan gave the slightest of nods to his commander and finished his oath, “I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.”

And, because he was still Logan Echolls, he glanced immediately to Veronica and gave her a little smirk. 

Keith shook his head, just slightly, as Logan turned back to his commanding officer and offered a salute. 

Veronica wrapped her arms around Logan’s neck and gave him a soft kiss, and then Keith could swear he heard her say, “God help us all, you mean.”

Logan kept an arm around Veronica’s waist and turned to Keith with a smile and an outstretched hand. “Keith, thanks for being here. I appreciate the support.”

Keith gave an exaggerated grumble and used Logan’s proffered hand to pull him into a half-hug. He slapped Logan’s shoulder affectionately and then stood back. “Congratulations, son.”

Logan’s eyes darted away, the same thing every time Keith called him son, but then he lifted his chin and smiled. “Thanks.”

“May I present,” Commander Bamford said, “Newly minted Lieutenant Commander Logan Echolls.”

Another round of applause started, with some whoops and whistling. Keith clapped along, grinning proudly.

“Oh, hey,” Reza called, wandering toward the closest plane. “One other thing.”

Logan cocked his head to the side, then took Veronica’s hand and followed his wizzo’s lead. Keith, unsure whether he was supposed to get anywhere near the very expensive, probably very classified planes, glanced over at Commander Bamford, who smiled and said, “After you.”

The Growler was even taller and more intimidating up close, Keith decided, with its angles and curves, and its dull, yet somehow menacing matte grey paint. When he reached Veronica’s side, he saw what they were looking at -- the name stenciled below the canopy had already been updated to LCDR LOGAN ECHOLLS.

Keith grinned, fighting the urge to pull out his phone and snap a picture, since he assumed the Masters-at-Arms keeping watch over the flightline would frown on that. Rather belatedly, Keith realized most of the other pilots and crew had backed off, leaving just Logan, Veronica, and himself by the plane. Keith heard the snap of a camera shutter again, and attempted to beat a hasty retreat. 

The kids didn’t need him cluttering up their keepsake photos. 

But Logan noticed and said, “Keith, would you mind a couple pictures?” He flushed a little, gesturing at the others. “I know it’s a little much, but they always get a photographer for these things.”

Keith nodded and stepped closer, nodding at Veronica’s grin and stepping partially behind her. They stood in a little family group -- Keith, Veronica, and Logan -- in front of his plane, and smiled for the camera. 

Then Keith bowed out. “Get some of the two of you.”

He wandered closer to the photographer and turned to watch. They were so different -- his tiny daughter and this tall lanky officer -- but they somehow still seemed well-matched.

Two weeks later, Keith received a framed picture in the mail from that day. Veronica’s blonde waves glowed in the sunshine, and her cranberry dress was the brightest thing in the frame. Logan’s ribbons and wings were displayed proudly on his fitted navy jacket, two-thirds of his plane providing their backdrop. They were smiling at the camera with their arms around each other’s waists and bodies partially turned toward each other. 

Caught up in each other, as always.

END


End file.
